


Lighter Than Forever

by Oaklin



Series: Forever Everything [94]
Category: Pro Wrestling Guerrilla, Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: (because that's the one that freaks Sami out), Canon-Typical Violence, Cheap Heat, Dickery, Douche-Bag Heels, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Protectiveness, Soulmates, Swearing, Trash Talk, Violence, baby wrestlers who don't know how to draw heat just yet, basically boyfriends, general rudeness, insensitive jokes, obligatory Kevin Steen warning, saying things that are very unnecessary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-05 23:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14629725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaklin/pseuds/Oaklin
Summary: Generico gets fierce, Kevin learns the importance of team work, and Claudio is a dick.Just your average PWG show.





	Lighter Than Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> Right off the bat, I may or may not be around to upload next week. I seem to be coming down with something, and when I get sick it is usually not pretty. I am rarely sick for more than three days at a time though, so hopefully I'll be good in time to polish up the next part. This one took a while to edit, and so will the next one, because I wrote them in a hurry on paper, so I've got to transfer them and then touch them up and so on. Not a lot of time to do so either, this last week or next week, even if I do recover from my sniffles. I've got a metric asston of shit to do all week long.
> 
> That was the long way of saying that I don't know what is happening with this series next week. The usual though, if I don't get it up next weekend, it will go up the weekend after that. I honestly want to get this whole thing rolling, as I have so much goddamn fic on my laptop right now. I dumped a bunch of it into Google Docs just so I could clear out some goddamn space XC

Kevin wonders idly (and not for the first time) how anyone, including himself, manages to put on any sort of violent spectacle (much less a fierce battle for dominance and the top of their proverbial shit-heap) in these dingy little pool halls, out in the foothills of bum-fuckistan California.

 _-hey asshole_ -

(shut up)

_-maybe pay attention?-_

His musings, as internally fascinating as they happen to be, are cut short by a sharp, deeply unpleasant pain spiking across the back of his skull, his cranium almost vibrating under the force of the blow. He staggers forward, wincing as the wind gets knocked out of him. Kevin falls to his knees, sucking in air like it’s made of gold, his chest aching and his eyes blurry with a wetness that wasn't there a moment ago.

_-told you-_

_-also that is called ‘crying’-_

(...shut up)

Kevin has just enough presence of mind to roll to the side, a string of garbled spanglish leading him through the spinning of the hall, desperate cries in a confusing mish-mash of Spanish, English, Arabic, and French piling up in his ears, making the already tilting world around him seem even more unhinged. He glances back, casting a bleary-eyed look at the source of the confusing belligerence, getting a soulful look for his troubles that he answers with a glare and a harsh nod. That particular touching moment out of the way, Kevin turns his attention back to Lost, who is still poised, ready to hit Kevin across the back of the head again. Although at the moment he seems content to just stand there, looking smug and overconfident.

_-plan c?-_

(don’t have one)

“Hey Scott, anyone ever tell you that you hit like a hippopotamus with severe brain damage?”

Lost actually pauses, looking confused, lowering his arm slightly, even as Kevin levers himself up off the canvas.

“Uh? Is that an insult or…?”

“Oh for christ’s sake. Let me in there, genius. I think this tub of lard with an attitude is a bit beyond your skill set,” Hero barks, getting a clap on the back and a appreciative chuckle from Claudio, and a disapproving glare from Bosh. Hero high-fives his tag team partner, the two sharing a giggle. Hero then leans forward, hanging over the ropes and smacking Lost on the back, forcing a tag that has Lost turning around with a defiant look of indignance. Hero brushes it off, sliding in the ring and squaring off, shooing Lost out of the way with enough condescension to actually render Kevin slightly impressed.

“That’s rich, coming from a landwhale like you, Hero. Eat any death stars in the last few hours? I always wondered what the heartburn was like with those things.”

_-low blow-_

Tough shit.

Kevin ignores the squawk of disapproval from behind him, focusing on the pinpoints of rage lighting up Hero’s eyes as they begin to circle each other.

“I might be a fatass, but at least I don’t drop to my knees and beg like a little bitch at the first sign that I might actually have to **work** for once in my goddamn life. You ever take a look in the mirror, pal? Your tender little heart couldn't be more apparent if you literally wore it on the back of one of those ugly ass t-shirts he gives you.” There is something wicked in Hero’s eyes as he indicates Generico, taking a swipe at him that the pasty little dumbass just barely avoids, his confusion apparent even as Kevin has to stomp down a fierce urge to blurt out something so stupid he doesn’t know if his reputation would recover.

“Fuck you Hero! You reek like a truck stop!”

_-clever-_

(wasn't too-?)

_-it was **pretty stupid-**_

_-but nothing someone like **you** can’t bounce back from though- _

_-just **don’t** say anything about _ **_him-_ **

(...wasn't going to)

 **_(he_ ** has nothing to do with this)

**_-right-_ **

“Go piss yourself at a crowded family function, Steen! You hit like my wheelchair ridden grandfather!”

Ah, at least this Kevin can handle. He can trash talk with the best of them.

Kevin opens his mouth, but has to duck the elbow in lieu of getting out a clever retort. Just as he rightens himself, he notices a sense of imminent doom bearing down to his right. He jumps back and away, the immediate threat giving him a nimbleness that even he himself would not have assumed he could be capable of. The ring shakes, as Kevin draws backwards, the aftershocks of Claudio’s scary, bilingual ass barreling into the ring making the ropes and canvas tremble. Kevin watches warily as Hero high-fives his tag team partner, the two of them sharing a look for a heartbeat, like they are communicating silently in one of the millions of languages that Claudio knows.

Kevin swallows, hard, because as much as he would normally hate to admit it, he knows full well that he is currently royally fucked. There is no way out of this particular situation, unless-

“Mi Amigo! Te salvare!”

(ah)

_-oh boy-_

Well.

_-be careful what you wish for, motherfucker-_

(i didn’t)

_-always-_

(no one would wish for **_him)_ **

_-you would-_

(i just said-)

_-I know-_

“I don’t need saving,” Kevin says with a less-than-convincing tone, eying Claudio as he drags Hero closer and they whisper to each other conspiratorially, looking irritatingly amused.

“Amigo-”

“Your tag team partner is… less impressive than I expected. Are the two of you really as close as the rumors say? I didn’t peg you as the type to associate with someone so… puny.” Claudio’s words send a bolt of something righteous up Kevin’s spine, his body shifting before he gives it permission, rocking himself over until he is planting his feet on the canvas, standing sharply between Claudio's smart mouth and an oddly silent Generico.

(who the _fuck)_

Does **this bitch** think he **_is._**

Hero pulls Claudio in this time, pointing and whispering some more, Claudio’s face contorting in thought as Hero talks to him quietly. Kevin can physically feel his hackles rising, the rage only getting tempered when pudgy little pale fingers press into his back. Kevin glances to his side, eying Generico, who is looking at him with something akin to awe, a slightly apprehensive yet tender look hiding under that glittery imitation of a face, hazel eyes alight with something bordering on reverence.

That’s all it takes for Kevin to remember himself.

“Fuck. Wait-”

“We could have been a tag team for that CZW show. Why did you tell me no, if this is what you wanted the entire time? You and I are **destined** to be-”

(shit)

(hold on)

**_-Forever-_ **

Sami’s voice is so soft, pooling in Kevin’s eardrums like liquid euphoria, raking him over with gentle understanding, rendering him temporarily mute until he dregs up words from beneath the layers of his sun-tainted soul.

“I am **_not_ ** your **_tag team partner-”_**

Generico doesn’t respond verbally to that, he just gives Kevin a slightly condescending look (as if he is deigning to humor Kevin, nothing more), returning his attention back to the calculating panthers across the ring from them. Kevin sucks in a harsh breath and tries to focus, his attention drawn by vibrations rippling under their feet that Kevin notices now that he has snapped himself out of Sami’s bewitching gaze. It seems Sami isn’t done with him yet though and Kevin tenses when pale, clammy little fingers intertwine with his own, their sweat-slick skin sticking together in the humid California night air. Kevin is torn for a moment, stuck in a raucous limbo, trying to decide if he wants to tear his fingers away and throw the scrawny dumb ass to the canvas, or use their newly laced  fingers as a garrote to cut those two loser down a notch.

Claudio makes the decision for him, charging faster than Kevin is comfortable with, hauling ass across the ring with a lightning fast speed and a thundering stride. Generico braces, like that is going to save him, and tugs on his own hand, only the viscous sweat and blood coating their hands keeping Generico and Kevin sealed together.

(the fuck would **_he_** try to-)

(wish _**he**_ would make up his mind)

 _-thought you didn’t_ **_want_ ** _to hold_ **_his hand-_ **

(...I hadn't come to a conclusion yet, I will have you know)

_-well better make up your mind quick, princess-_

_-things are about to get_ **_dicey-_ **

Kevin jerks his own aching arm, pulling the bony fool back towards him with a ragged sort of grace that feels almost second nature. Kevin only has the barest of heartbeats to appreciate the stunned, confused look on his companion’s face, before Claudio is too close to ignore, no matter the touching moment Generico and Kevin are in the middle of.

“Duck!” Kevin barks, in the split second before Claudio’s shoulder connects with Generico’s skull. Thankfully, the ‘Kings of Wrestling’ aren't the only assholes who can communicate on a whim, or at a moments notice, and Generico doesn't question Kevin or hesitate. He just moves, sliding under Claudio’s bulk with a smooth catlike poise that Kevin has to tear his eyes away from, lest he get lost in the beauty of the movements.

(not the time)

**_-it’s never the time with you-_ **

_-spoil sport-_

(no future chances to objectify **_him_ ** if we die here at the hands of these morons)

 _-...so you want to live to objectify_ **_him_ ** _later?-_

(...shut up)

Kevin doesn't even need to give Generico instructions, they just catch each other’s gaze, Generico crouched, sliding under Claudio, rolling their arms, the connection tenuous and painful. Kevin holds on though, his muscles straining, the clammy skin making it hard to hold a grip. Claudio raises his leg swiftly, aiming for a mule kick, Generico’s eyes going wide in the split second before he realizes the doom that is coming for him. Kevin can’t breath for a heartbeat, the look of **fear** in Those Eyes melting his brain, a searing combination of intrigued euphoria, and panicked fury ripping him apart, as if Generico’s terror soaked glance his way has drugged him with some wretched indecision.

It only lasts a heartbeat, before he is jamming a shoulder into Claudio’s ribs, jerking his arm up roughly, hoping his partner gets the gist. Generico does, like a little trouper, a look of understanding dawning on him in the split second before he is going with Kevin’s momentum, pushing himself up off the mat, driving their joined arms and his own shoulder right into Claudio's crotch with enough force that Kevin can feel the air leave the swiss wrestler’s lungs.

It doesn’t last long, just buys them time, Hero throwing off Dragon (when did he tackle Hero? Kevin blinks, trying to shake off the fuzz of the last few heartbeats) launching himself across the ring and pulling Claudio out. The two dick-bags slink away so that they can both take a breather, much to Kevin's relief. Kevin yanks Generico back to their corner, his heart pounding in his ears, unable to keep his hands off of his tag team partner. He gasps, his whole body aching from the tension, accepting the outstretched hand from Quicksilver, tagging out swiftly and following a stunned looking Generico as he staggers to the apron.

Generico won’t stop looking at him, casting sideways looks full of trepidation and something that Kevin can’t put a name to. It doesn't make him as uncomfortable as it probably should, and Kevin can’t even find it in himself to snap at the ginger wonder, the two of them just sliding through the ropes in silence, dropping to the floor, ragged breaths synced as they move in tandem.

_-so-_

_-tag team partner,_ **_huh?-_ **

(...not _yet)_

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Te salvare- I will save you
> 
> Hope you liked it!


End file.
